The Savior He Worshipped Wrong

The day before my wedding, my sister and I were ambushed. My fiancé, Vincenzo, and his men scrambled to react, but they only pulled my sister, Lola, out of the crossfire. She didn't have a scratch on her.

I was left to die on the cold highway, the ensuing car crash costing me my fertility.

Word of what happened to me traveled up and down the East Coast. I became a joke—the barren woman who couldn't give the Costello family an heir.

When my own family cast me aside, Vincenzo defied the elders. He threw me a wedding grander than anyone imagined and shielded me, treating me like his most precious treasure.

But in the third year of our marriage, I stumbled upon a recording on an encrypted hard drive in his study, where Vincenzo coldly ordered his right-hand man, "The goal is a car crash. Make it look like an ambush gone wrong. Lola must be unharmed. I want one outcome: Lexi must be left barren."

Another clip played, Vincenzo's ruthless voice cutting through the static: "An infertile wife is the perfect ornament, isn't she?"

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1

The air conditioning in the study was cranked high, but it couldn't touch the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

The progress bar on the screen had ended, but Vincenzo's voice echoed endlessly in my mind. That audio clip was a rusty saw, methodically grinding away the facade of our three-year marriage.

Every syllable was a bullet lodging itself in my heart. My hand shot to my lower abdomen, to the hideous scar that still ached on rainy days. I had stroked it countless times, telling myself it was a cruel twist of fate and that Vincenzo had been the one to pull me back from the abyss.

How ridiculous. The man who pushed me off the cliff was the same one who pulled me back up.

In that instant, the horrific car crash was no longer a memory of an accident, but a meticulously designed production. The tumbling car, the acrid smell of gasoline, the agony of metal tearing into my flesh—all orchestrated by the man I loved most, my husband, to make me his “perfect ornament.”

If he wanted me destroyed, why marry me at all?

Was it all for show, as everyone whispered? To protect the Costello family's reputation? Or was it just to keep me trapped by his side, watching me worship him like a grateful fool?

In the corner of the computer screen, the encrypted messaging app flashed. A new message from Vincenzo's Consigliere.

As I read the words, tears finally broke free, streaming down my face.

"I never married Lexi out of guilt. I married her to keep my most perfect masterpiece by my side, to be admired."

"As for an heir… Lola will give me one. And my poor, barren wife will be this child's rightful 'mother.' A perfect, closed loop."

I gasped for air, my fingers trembling. This wasn't just betrayal. He was erasing my very existence. He had not only stolen my right to be a mother but planned for me to raise the child of the sister who had helped ruin my life.

Lola. My own sister. The angel everyone adored. She was an accomplice.

"You're obsessed with my 'dear' sister, aren't you, Vincenzo!" The words tore from my throat, raw and hoarse.

The sound of steady footsteps echoed from the entryway. Vincenzo was home.

I scrambled into the washroom, twisting the faucet and splashing cold water on my burning face. The woman in the mirror was ghostly pale, but a cold, deadly flame burned in her eyes. I couldn't fall apart. Not yet.

When I walked out, Vincenzo was in the center of the living room, loosening his tie. His handsome face broke into that adoring smile I'd never once questioned. He strode over, his hands on my shoulders, and eased me down onto the soft leather sofa.

His large hands, which I once adored, now felt like venomous snakes slithering over my flat stomach.

"My girl, have you been crying? Thinking about the accident again?" His voice was a low, magnetic rumble. "Tell me when it hurts. Don't carry it alone. It breaks my heart."

His heart?

If a murderer could feel heartache for his victim, then the world truly was a sick joke.